Imaginary Things
by Moe Machina
Summary: Wild ARMS I - Courage, Hope, and Love mean very little when real people are involved.


Imaginary Things, Chapter One: Unspoken Words

Unspoken Words

Chapter One of _Imaginary Things_

By [Adobe Scribe][1]

  
He traces patterns on the damp surface, disturbing the shimmering rings that spiral out across the table. The wet curves appear randomly twisted along the wood, but their slick intricacy seems to harbor some deeper rhythm. Are secret anxieties hidden within their sibilant shape? Or do they reveal the movement of the fateful universe, invisible as the wind until the smoke betrays it? He thinks about fortune-telling, divination, old women spilling chicken entrails across a gritty floor to predict a good harvest. His fingers pass through the glistening circles again, destroying the delicate pattern of destiny.

His companion made a soft sound so he looks up at her, but she isn't speaking to anything so real as he. She stares down at her lap, with her white fingers laced loosely together, and her lips occasionally shift slightly. She's not talking, but she's not silent; rather, she stands on the threshold of thought, forming shapeless clumps of consciousness into definite sound. He watches the shoal of ideas that slip across her face, with scales that glitter in her eyes and hair as they glide into her left cheekbone. She makes another soft sound in the back of her throat, and her gaze rises somewhat to lie on the tabletop. And then she looks at him.

Their eyes meet, and he doesn't blink. For a moment, they're both completely still, waiting for the other. The shoal pauses for a moment and trembles on the verge of articulation. Then she sighs and smiles a little.

"What are you thinking about, Rudy?" Cecilia asks.

He shrugs diffidently and stares mutely at the table, his fingers making new patterns out of old prophecies.

Cecilia tilts her head and smiles a little bit more at this, but she's already turning away, and the coruscating shoal is already slipping away to another interest. Rudy follows her gaze over and up and watches the approaching leather jacket.

It's a very nice piece of clothing, the leather jacket. The color is a light, durable-looking brown, and the long fringe hanging from the shoulders and arms swings slightly as its owner navigates the crowded common room. There is a small rip on the inner lining of the lefthand pocket and a mysteriously dark stain on the cuff of the right sleeve, but really, the jacket has thus far held up surprisingly well. There's a lot of miles left in that old coat. The little pieces of fringe especially. You wouldn't think some unraveled bits of leather would bear up so well under constant wear and tear, but they will, and they do, and those ragged edges will probably outlast the jacket itself.

The jacket arrives at the table, and Jack sets the glasses down with a dull _thud_. "Now, here's something to wash away the grit of that lousy cave." He slides into his chair and smiles a little too widely at his two companions. Cecilia gazes back at him without expression, but Rudy is concentrating on the narrow, glistening trail sliding down the leftmost glass.

"Well," Jack says at last, settling back in his chair and continuing to grin his too-broad grin, "I have to say that you guys are about as much fun as a corpse."

Cecilia shrugs and reaches for her glass. "We could get Rudy to dance on the table, I suppose," she says thinly. She gives the contents of the container a dubious look, and then couldn't decide if Jack's deepening smirk is meant for her or the raucous duo at the table behind her. Beside her, the dark-haired boy looks up to watch the scrambling shoals scatter across her face. She hesitates, and then with a slightly defiant gaze directed towards Jack, she tosses back the pale liquid in one frantic gulp.

Jack's face doesn't change expression as he surveys the room, but the leather jacket shifts in disappointment. "Quite a crowd here tonight," he casually notes before draining his own draft.

Cecilia carefully puts down her glass and folds her hands in her lap, white arms shining in the light from yellow lamps. "They're undoubtedly here for the Festival." Her expression is serene, but Rudy can see the congregation dappled with satisfaction in her cheeks.

Jack can see it too, and so he _thumps_ down his glass with ever-increasing cheer. "Ah, yes, the _Festival_. I've heard that it will be quite a sight. All those ancient discoveries and everything." He leans in with a confidential air. "Do you suppose that professor will have that machine we saw today set up in time?"

Cecilia shrugs. "Emma has enough determination to drag that thing here on her own. She'll get it here even if it kills her."

The left shoulder of the leather jacket creases in interest. "Then, you know her? Are you from around these parts?"

The shoals pause for a moment. "Ah...only by reputation. My family comes from...farther north."

"Oh, right." Jack eagerly snaps his fingers. "Curan Abbey. You said you were from there?"

She shrugs, running her finger along the rim of her glass. "Yes, I graduated from Curan. I...came to Adlehyde to see the Festival."

"I've heard of Curan. Supposed to be quite the magic school." Cecilia says nothing to this, only runs her finger along her glass' edge until, returning to herself with a grimace, she forcibly removes it and returns it to her lap. Jack absently drums his fingers along the table top. "I was talking to someone about Curan only today. Now...now, what was it?" Rudy sees that the leather jacket lies quietly, in wait. "It was...oh!" Jack's eyes brightened. "The princess. Heard she was a beauty. Wasn't she supposed to attend Curan too?"

Rudy's fingers pause in their moist, meandering dance, and he turns to look at Cecilia. She stares back at Jack, her face gone still and silent. They seem to be a bubble of quiet that the rest of the common room seems to gleefully revolve around, a wild merry-go-round spinning around an island of calm. From out of the hurricane's eye comes a dull, "Yes, I believe she did. We didn't have any classes together, though."

Jack is silent for a moment, looking at her, but then his smile returns and his chair _creaks_ as he leans back, and with an audible _pop_ the bubble is gone and the roar of the common room inundates them once more. The leather jacket rubs against itself in good cheer as Jack nonchalantly reaches for his glass. "Not to quiz you or anything. Just curious. We didn't even know each other yesterday and now...now we're comrades!"

The shoals are gone from Cecilia's face and she is as pale as paper. "Yes. Well. It's...ah, it's rather late. I really should be going." She quickly stands up, and the knuckles around her pack are white.

"Where will you go?" Jack asks innocently.

"I will be staying with some friends here. Ah," she says, looking at Jack and Rudy. "Well. Today was quite an adventure, and I, ah, thank you for allowing me to take part." 

Jack magnanimously shrugs off her praise. "It's nothing. Believe me, we couldn't have done it without your help."

Cecilia manages a thin smile and stands there awkwardly while Jack continues to grin up at her. She glances at Rudy for a moment, and Rudy can see the briefest suggestion of glittering scales. Then she shifts her weight from one foot to the other and apologetically says, "Well, goodbye."

"See you around, Cecilia," Jack says, grin fading. Rudy lifts his wet fingers and waves at her. She turns and starts towards the door, her back straight and her step steady. They watch her until she reaches the door and turns the knob and steps out, never looking back. The door shuts behind her with a dull _thuck_ and the common room wraps them in its warm happiness once again. 

"Hmmm," Jack thoughtfully says, once again drumming his fingers on the table. "I think...I think our Cecilia speaks just a little too proper for her own good. Well, I don't blame her. No doubt she'll never be allowed to drink bad beer with a pair of Dream Chasers again." He chuckles to himself. "At any rate, that'll be the last that _we_ see of her."

Rudy looks at the chortling leather jacket, and then studies the glistening ribbons laid out in front of him, mutely whispering of their winding destinies, ever crossing and parting. He touches them lightly, and is silent.

  
  
  


   [1]: mailto:adobescribe@hotmail.com



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